I Believe You
by TheLateNightStoryteller
Summary: When Fitz is accused of a crime he did not commit, it's up to Simmons to prove him innocent. Set during their time at Sci-Ops, a few years after the Academy.
1. Chapter 1

Simmons was led into a lift by an armed guard. The walls weren't mirrored, like they would have been in a shopping center or a hotel, but grey, shining steel, smooth except for the worrying dent on the left side. Simmons couldn't help wondering what had left the shallow indentation in the hard material, _who _had left it, who they'd brought down there where Fitz was now.

"Please allow your ShowMe to be scanned," a computer voice requested politely.

The guard flashed his card over a black square beside the controls.

"ShowMe accepted, authorization for B levels 1, 3, 4, and 7.

"Seven," he told it and they began descending.

Simmons guessed B stood for basement, and that seven was the furthest underground of the levels the lift could go, at least with them in it. What did that mean? Was that a bad floor? Did they keep people who were dangerous on that level? Fitz wasn't dangerous, and he wasn't much of a fighter either, surely they wouldn't have him mixed in with violent thugs?

A knot formed in her stomach and she took a breath to steady herself, wanting to appear calm when she greeted her friend so he wouldn't be afraid. She needed to be his rock, not a catalyst for panic.

His room was near the end of a long hallway, walled with concrete, and when they opened the door she saw that the walls of his cell were concrete too, except the one facing them which was glass (it made her feel a little better that there were no bars, even though she knew it was ridiculous, that it made no difference). He had a bed and a desk but he was sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the glass, skin pale, almost grey and pulling at his fingers in the way she knew was reserved only for moments of tremendous anxiety.

He seemed so vulnerable and alone, she wanted to kneel down next to him and pull him into her arms. She wanted him to know she was there, to tell him it was going to be OK because she was going to fix this.

"Fitz?" She called. She tried to keep her voice even but it squeaked in the middle.

He didn't move. It was almost as if he hadn't heard her, couldn't see her, as if there was a solid wall between them...

"Is that really necessary?" she asked the guard, spine stiffening uncomfortably as she realized that they had made the barrier transparent only on their side and that they weren't allowing sound to carry through. "I wanted to talk. I can do that, can't I? He's not dangerous." Her words were thick with tension, heavy with her distress over the fact that her friend had been detained at all, let alone held in a high security cell as if he were a Chitauri invader and not a hard working agent who'd_ allegedly_ done something awful. Simmons wasn't at all convinced that he'd done what they'd said he had. This was a mistake. If they knew him the way she did they'd agree, they'd know Fitz couldn't have done it, it wasn't possible, didn't make any sense.

The guard nodded up at the security camera and the wall shimmered briefly. Though no difference could be seen on their end it was apparent that Fitz noticed a change because he turned his head swiftly towards them, a bit of the colour returning to his cheeks when he spotted Simmons, and sent her a small, hopeful smile that twisted her heart.

"Are you OK?" she asked, sitting next to the glass. They wouldn't have hurt him but he had to be terrified. This could ruin everything he'd worked so hard for, tear apart his entire life.

Fitz stared back at her, paling again, and she suspected he was holding back tears, trying not to appear as frightened as he was. He fidgeted, a quiver passing through him, eyes darting to the ground and then back to her before he spoke.

"I didn't do it," he asserted, pleading with her to believe him.

"Of course not," she agreed, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head because that was ridiculous. "Of course you didn't."

His mouth twitched up in a grateful smile and he tapped his knuckles on the glass in front of her, reaching out to her. She tapped back, hoping she wasn't making him feel like a fish in a tank. By the way his smile widened, she guessed she wasn't, that the gesture had been comforting rather than distressing.

The guard watched them wearily but neither Simmons nor Fitz noticed.

"It'll be OK," she told him optimistically. "We'll get this sorted out, there must have been some kind of mistake, but it'll be obvious soon that you couldn't have possibly-"

"I could have though," he told her, expression darkening. "I didn't, I _wouldn't,_" he added quickly. "But I could have."

She chewed the inside of her lip, unsure what to say. He was innocent, she was as certain of that as she was that the sun had risen that morning, so the rest of SHIELD was going to figure it out soon enough. They were going to find evidence that it had been someone else, and then they were going to let him go. Weren't they?

Fitz didn't seem so sure.

"They think I tried to kill someone," he told her, quiet, like an echo playing back what she already knew.

"It could have been an accident, you could have only meant to scare him," she argued automatically. Then she remembered the guard behind her and quickly continued so that he wouldn't for a second think that there was any part of her that believed her friend was guilty. "Not that you would have done it, not that it's going to come to that... whatever that is... there is no that because you're not-"

"Because I didn't-" he went on.

"-do anything," she finished quietly.

They looked away from each other and Simmons wondered how much longer they had before she would be forced to leave.

"It looks a lot like I did though," he said after a minute. He was staring at his hands, shoulders sagging in defeat. "There was that fight I had with him, over the-"

"That's a coincidence," Simmons objected, refusing to let him lose hope. "It doesn't prove anything."

"I was at home, alone, when it happened," he pointed out. "I don't have anyone who can confirm where I was."

She snorted. "That isn't evidence that you did it."

"It isn't evidence that I didn't either," he countered, eyes shifting back and forth as he thought it out, and she realized he was reasoning through what had happened, not giving up but gathering the details so he could find a solution.

"Then there's the machine," she added, jumping in. That was their biggest problem, the most incriminating detail so far.

He glanced briefly at her before returning to his hands. "Yeah," he mumbled, pulling at his fingers again.

Simmons raised her own hand, moving it forward with the intent of stopping him and startled herself by bumping it against the glass, the quick tap sending a vibration across the barrier and down her arm. She'd been so far into her head, twisting out possible explanations and wrapped up in her concern for her friend, that she'd forgotten about the invisible wall between them.

Fitz raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Did you just-?"

"No," she denied, embarrassed but lightened by the humour in his expression.

"You did-" he pressed, amused.

"It's very clear glass," she defended, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You barely notice it's there, that'd be the new addition, the-"

"Asgardian polymers," he finished, holding in a laugh. "I guess it is easy to forget that it's there, if you're not paying attention," he teased.

"I was _trying_ to find a way to get you out of here," she explained, chuckling before she realized what she'd said and turned somber. He sighed, mirroring her.

"I know," he answered softly.

The light humour was gone and he'd grown smaller, drawing his knees to his chest and hugging them against him, a turtle hiding in it's shell.

"It'll be OK," she assured him, doing her best to sound certain.

He didn't respond.

"It will be Fitz," she insisted. "I promise. I'll find out what really happened."

His eyes drifted to her and locked onto her face, listening, trusting.

Simmons smiled encouragingly. "We'll have you out before you know it," she predicted, resolve growing, spreading roots deep into the ground. "You're innocent," she reminded him firmly, meeting his gaze. "And if I have to prove that to get you out of here, I will."

/-/-/

* * *

><p>Hello :D, thank you for reading this chapter and here is some background on it.<p>

So this is going to be a kinda, mystery, detectivish story (I think) that'll be 3, maybe 4 chapters. I have never done anything like this before haha, so any feedback would be helpful and bear with me it it's a little choppy.

I am still working on Welcome to Westfield, but I had to put it on the back burner while I wait for some stuff to happen in season 2 so I decided to do this one in the meantime.

There is a reference to the science fiction series Fringe in this story. It is the ShowMe card. In the alternate universe, (with like, blimps and stuff), everyone has a ShowMe they need to carry around with them at all times. (At least in the USA).


	2. Chapter 2

Simmons was at home, notes in neat lines around her as she sat on the floor of her sitting room, a forgotten cup of tea, long gone cold, sitting beside her on the short wooden table and a pen in her hand which she flicked uneasily as she went over what she had so far.

It didn't look very good for Fitz.

/-/-/

Only a week ago he'd had a heated argument with agent John Scott, the victim, another engineer working on one of their projects with them, about the specific alloys they needed to allow for optimal function of their "Lullaby Box".

"We're not calling it that," Simmons protested, rolling her eyes at him when Fitz had suggested the name as she was helping their volunteer make herself comfortable. "You're going to fall asleep," she told her brightly. "Well, hopefully," she chuckled. "If this works, you'll actually be making money sleeping, isn't that funny?"

She smiled at her. "Works for me."

Simmons wasn't sure how the fight had started, she had been in the room with the volunteer still, after Fitz had stepped out to make some last minute adjustments, and the room was soundproof so she wasn't entirely sure how long they'd been shouting at each other when she arrived either.

"I know you're a little young, so maybe you don't get that our organization has limits," agent Scott was growling when she slipped out into the lab, closing the door quickly behind her so that their voices wouldn't carry inside to their volunteer, not wanting them to appear unprofessional.

"It's a tiny part," Fitz argued, face red and clearly offended by the comment on his age. Simmons knew he was touchy about how young he was. "You're only angry because you didn't think of it first."

"Vibranium is expensive," agent Scott said, gritting his teeth but ignoring the accusation. "And the part may be tiny, but if this works we're going to be making a lot of these. We need it to be cost effective."

"It wont matter if it's cost effective if it's doesn't work," Fitz shot back, glaring at him.

"It wont matter if it works if we can't afford to equip our field agents with it!" Agent Scott snapped, returning the glare. "Not that you'd know anything about that, I heard you were too afraid to leave the lab. I've been out there, I know what I'm talking about."

Other scientists using the lab were watching them, some curious, others annoyed by the disturbance and a few seeming uncertain if they should intervene.

Fitz was livid, fists clenched and his back rigid as he stared furiously at the other agent.

"Fitz..." Simmons warned, not wanting him to do or say anything he'd regret, knowing that agent Scott had hit another sore spot.

"Yeah, well... maybe you'll get blown up someday on one of those damn missions you're so proud of," he hissed and there was a gasp from a few of their spectators.

/-/-/

"Oh Fitz," she sighed, holding up the notes she'd written on the incident, the people who'd been there, what she remembered had been said, before laying it back down in front of her and rubbing the back of her neck, feeling as if she were in over her head.

He hadn't meant it. He'd never wish harm on anyone, not for something as stupid as a rude comment, however riled up it got him.

She couldn't prove that though.

Simmons could talk until her throat was sore and her tongue dried out about how her friend was a good person, about his kindness, moments where he'd been hurt but hadn't retaliated, moments where he had but never to this extent, never putting someone in danger the way agent Scott had been. None of it would matter though, none of it was solid proof that he'd wouldn't do what they were accusing him of. _She knew_, through years of experience, what was inside her friend's heart, but there was no way to communicate it, no way show it to anyone, because it was in her head.

She needed something tangible, something that would show that either Fitz couldn't have done it or something that proved someone else had.

_'But I could have.'_

He was right. SHIELD had detained him because everything was pointing towards him being the criminal, because he had motive, means and no alibi. Simmons was going to need to pursue the second option, she was going to need to figure out who had done it, who had tried to kill John Scott.

It seemed a daunting task; what did she know about catching criminals? She was a scientist not a private detective. She wasn't Sherlock Holmes and even if she were she'd be missing her Watson.

Her Watson, her Fitz. He needed her. She remembered how he'd looked when she'd visited him, the way he'd hugged his knees to his chest, protecting himself because he was scared. She remembered the look on his face before the barrier had been lifted, how alone he'd been. He was alone now too.

Science was detective work wasn't it? How different, really, were the two? Both had clues you needed to follow, details you needed to explore. Good note taking was likely key to each. Good note taking, and observation, gathering information and data. She couldn't do that sitting in her sitting room. She needed to examine the evidence herself, talk to witnesses, find clues.

Determined, she gathered up her notes and sorted them into a binder, adding several sheets of extra paper to the end before clipping the rings shut. Then she pulled on her jacket and placed a pen in her pocket, along with a miniature magnifying glass for good measure. Hugging the binder against her chest, she departed, heading out to prove that her friend was innocent and hoping that he was alright, that he wasn't getting himself into any more trouble, that he wasn't picking fights with anyone else. Who knew what kind of hardened criminals they were keeping him with.

/-/-/

Fitz was in line at the cafeteria, dressed in dull grey clothes and surrounded by armed guards (what the hell did they think the prisoners were going to do? Start the world's deadliest food fight?)

His gaze drifted to the man in front of him, tall and bulky with a rough, bald head and a long scar down the side of his face. He actually did seem like someone who could make a food fight deadly, he'd probably sharpen a carrot with his teeth and stab it through someone's eye... Fitz felt sick at the thought and his hand went up automatically to touch the side of his socket, defensive.

'Just keep your head down, don't start trouble, don't draw attention to yourself and you'll be fine,' he thought uneasily, reflecting that that particular strategy had never really been a winner for him in the past. People didn't need any provocation to decide they wanted to hurt you, they just needed to see that you were someone they could use to vent, or want something from you.

The tall man received the last piece of cake, a tall chocolate prism with creamy sauce that actually looked like it would have been delicious. Fitz, instead, received a small container of green jello. _Green _jello, probably green apple flavoured or lime, it would have been punishment enough for any crime.

"Thanks," he muttered, trying and failing to sound grateful, before finding a seat, alone, at the end of a long lunch table, like the ones he'd had in the cafeteria of his primary school.

He was halfway through his watery potatoes when the tall, scarred man, sat across from him, silent, and began eating his own meal.

Fitz gulped and tried not to look at him. If it came down to a fight, he thought he could probably think his way out of it, find a clever way to either win or escape, but he didn't want to start any trouble and to be perfectly honest, he wasn't entirely certain he'd be able to come out of it unscathed.

"You new here?" The man grunted.

"Yeah," Fitz mumbled, poking anxiously at the bottom of his potatoes, no longer hungry.

Another grunt.

'Please let that be the end of it,' Fitz begged, not knowing exactly to whom he was sending out his thoughts. It wasn't as if the frightening man could read his mind.

"Is that green apple or lime?" He asked, jabbing his spoon at the jello.

"Er... um..." Fitz wasn't sure, didn't know what to do. Was this a robbery? Was his jello about to be stolen? Whatever flavour it was he could have it, Fitz wasn't risking his neck for the wiggly green dessert. That cake, on the other hand, might have been a different story.

"Wanna trade for my cake?" The man offered, taking him completely by surprise, even sounding polite.

"Yeah... what? Sure," Fitz fumbled, quickly passing him the jello and receiving a mouthwatering chunk of chocolate yummyness for his efforts.

"Thanks, I'm lactose intolerant," the man explained, smiling appreciatively. "And the icing's made with cream cheese."

Fitz smiled back, relieved. "You're actually doing me a favour, I can't stand jello."

The man laughed. "I'm Bruce." He held out his hand.

"Fitz," Fitz replied, taking it.

"Huh, that a nickname?" Bruce wondered.

Fitz shook his head. "It's my last name."

Bruce nodded, accepting his answer, before taking a bite out of the jello.

"So what are you in for?" He asked casually, as if inquiring about where Fitz had bought his shoes.

"Something I didn't do," he told him assertively, bolder now that Bruce had a name and a smile. "They think I tried to kill a coworker," he waved his hand, annoyed, "revenge for a stupid fight or something. Apparently I put a tracker on him so that one of the drones we were working on would pick him up and drop him about ninety feet. Fortunately he landed in a truck bed filled with sawdust and he was fine but everyone is saying it was me," he thought of Simmons and felt a warm flicker of affection. "Well, almost everyone, and I could have done it, I know how, but I didn't."

Bruce shrugged and Fitz wasn't sure if he believed his answer or not.

"It happens," he accepted easily.

Fitz was awkwardly silent for a few seconds before he realized he was being rude, not asking about Bruce.

"So... um... what are you here for?" He asked hesitantly.

"I shot a superior officer in the knee," Bruce told him breezily between mouthfuls of jello.

"Oh," Fitz replied, a twinge of unease tickling the inside of his stomach. "Um... I guess... it happens," he repeated, unsure what to say and Bruce smiled, tipping the spoon at him in solidarity.

At least he seemed to have made a friend. That'd probably be useful, keep him safe until Simmons could find a way to prove him innocent and get him out of there.

And the cake really was delicious, so, all things considered, he wasn't having too bad a day.

/-/-/

Simmons decided to first stop at a local superstore to buy herself a personal recording device (so she'd have proof that the people she interviewed had said what they'd said), a few extra pens, some plastic bags and a box of latex gloves in case she needed to collect anything, and a box of cookies with smiley faces on them to send to Fitz, a present to keep up his courage (if they made it past security).

"So watcha' doin' with all this?" the woman at the checkout wondered curiously. "Are you some sort of detective?" She joked, holding up the gloves and the personal recording device.

"No, no, I'm a biochemist," Simmons answered honestly. "But my friend has been falsely accused of a crime, and I'm going to prove he's innocent."

She wasn't sure if the cashier believed her, but she smiled and held up the cookies.

"These gonna be your accomplices?" She laughed.

"Those are for my friend," Simmons explained. "I thought they'd cheer him up."

"You really are busting your friend out of jail aren't you?" She mused, scanning the cookies.

"Proving his innocence," Simmons corrected, not wanting anyone to think she was going to attempt a break out. "But yes."

The woman smiled, impressed, and bagged the cookies along with the gloves. "Shiny."

/-/-/

* * *

><p>Haha, OK, so there is a Fringe and a Firefly reference in this story. The Fringe reference is the name John Scott. He is Olivia's boyfriend who gets infected by some crazy thing that makes your skin see through in the first episode (and the reason she goes to get Walter and Peter to help).<p>

The Firefly reference is the Shiny at the end. haha, I guess the cashier is a fan.

The Fitz hates green apple is a reference to Notapepper's Oh to Be Young where there is a chapter where he complains about green apple candy (which is hilarious).

I named the guy Bruce, 'cause Bruce Banner. I dunno how realistic it would be for him to be so friendly but just because you shot a guy doesn't make you mean right? Maybe? haha.


	3. Chapter 3

Simmons' first stop was John Scott's house, a small, pleasant dwelling in a quiet neighborhood. A grey sidewalk ran along the street and large trees, which would have shaded the walk in the summer, now had bright red and orange leaves between bare branches.

She walked up the steps determinedly, shivering slightly in the cold October breeze, but ready with her recording device in hand and an unwillingness to take no for an answer.

Yes, agent Scott had been through a trauma, but if she didn't prove Fitz hadn't been the one to try to hurt him her friend might spend years in prison and his entire career, everything he'd been striving towards, would be lost. Surely agent Scott wouldn't want to risk putting that on an innocent man? Surely he'd want to help ensure that the right person was caught, even if it was simply so that they wouldn't try to finish what they had started.

She tapped three times, short, insistent, but polite.

Agent Scott opened the door, balancing on crutches because his right leg was wrapped up in thick white plaster, having been broken in the fall.

"Oh, it's you," he said flatly, recognizing her. "Look, he did it alright? I know that might be hard to believe... well... for _you_ anyway, but your friend is a menace and I'm busy so-" He began to close the door.

"Wait!" Simmons pleaded, sticking her foot between the door and the frame. That was what they did in the films. Unfortunately, the films never seemed to go over how much getting thwacked with a heavy wooden door hurt. "Please, I just wanted to ask you some questions," she winced, foot throbbing. "I er... I'm just... having trouble... coping...," Why was she lying? She was horrible at lying.

"And that recording device is going to help you 'cope'?" Agent Scott inquired skeptically, tilting his head towards it.

"Um...," Think of something! "Um... well... I..." A lump formed in her throat. She'd barely began and she was already failing. Her friend was going to be locked away forever because she couldn't be persuasive. She blinked away frustrated tears, crying wasn't going to help. Unless...

She sniffed dramatically. "I- I just think I'm going to need to hear it more than once." He wasn't budging, she needed to play it up. She couldn't seem to produce tears though so she hid her face behind her hands. "It's just such a shock... that... um...," another dramatic sniff. "Someone you trust could... be so... dastardly!" This wasn't convincing, people shook when they cried. Simmons twitched her shoulders awkwardly a few times before peeking between her fingers.

If anything, agent Scott looked even more annoyed.

"You aren't just going to go away are you?" He sighed.

She abandoned the facade and shook her head, resolute. "No."

Another sigh. "Fine, come in."

/-/-/

"So this Simmons is trying to bust you outta here?" Bruce asked, taking another piece of cookie.

He and Fitz were sitting in the rec room, enjoying the box Simmons had sent over. The guards had smashed them up a bit before they arrived (because nothing said suspicious and dangerous like a box of cookies with smiley faces on them) but he and Bruce had managed to piece them together again and Fitz had received Simmons' message loud and clear in the bright grins.

'I still believe in you, don't give up, I hope these make you feel better.'

They did, make him feel better. They reminded him that he wasn't alone and that someone was fighting for him. They warmed his heart and shimmered hope through his soul.

And they were delicious. He was going to get cavities with all the sweets he'd been eating in prison.

"She's proving my innocence," Fitz corrected. "Simmons isn't really the 'busting out' type and besides, then I'd be on the run for the rest of my life."

Another pair of prisoners were playing pool a few feet away. They'd been there for over an hour and Fitz wondered if he and Bruce would ever get a turn. He'd have gone and asked, politely of course, except that even with the other man to back him up he was still a little weary of the people who were locked up in the facility. Bruce was nice enough but the way some of them glared at him he felt like fresh meat hiding behind a bigger animal and that they were waiting like stalking wolves for him to come out into the open.

Of course, that could all be in his head, but he still didn't want to risk a confrontation.

"Is she good at proving people innocent?" Bruce wondered, drawing his attention away from the game.

Fitz smiled. "She's the smartest person I know and she's resourceful and she never, ever gives up. If she can't get me out of here, no one can."

Bruce smiled back knowingly. "Ah OK, I see. That's cute."

"What? What's cute?" Fitz asked, confused. Nothing of what he'd said had been cute, it had been honest.

"She's your buddy, so you believe in her. And she believes in you," he explained. He seemed sad for a moment. "Wish I had that."

"But... but you.." Fitz was about to point out that Bruce had, of his own admittance, done exactly what he was in there for, but he seemed down and Fitz didn't want to poke the wound, so instead he risked tapping his arm, getting his attention, before smiling encouragingly. "Well, I believe in you. I think you're a good person, you just made a mistake."

That brightened him.

"You think when your friend busts you out- I mean, proves you innocent- you could write, to tell me how things are going?" He inquired hesitantly.

Fitz nodded. "Yeah, if you'll write back and tell me if Bad-Aim and Grips-the-Stick-too-Tightly over there ever relinquish the pool table." He cast them a nervous glance to ensure they hadn't heard him. They were, thankfully, oblivious.

Bruce laughed loudly. "Deal."

/-/-/

Simmons sat on a cushy brown sofa in agent Scott's sitting room, ready to turn on the recording device and begin the interview.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered politely. "Or a cookie? The chem department gave me some free samples of a new flavour they're testing out, as a get well present." He scrunched is nose. "Bacon berry. Actually, if you like them, you can have the batch."

"Um... no thank you...," Simmons declined, smiling gratefully. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, about the incident."

He sat down, sighing wearily. "Shoot," he invited, raising his arms.

Simmons held up the recorder. "Would it be alright-?"

He shrugged. "If it helps you accept the truth, why not?"

'It's going to help me _find out_ the truth,' Simmons thought, but she didn't argue with him, counting herself lucky that he was complying and not wanting to mess it up.

Pushing down her apprehension, Simmons opened her binder and began at the top of the list of questions she'd prepared before coming over.

"Is there anyone else you think might have done this?" She inquired, business-like. "Anyone who's holding a grudge against you, someone who wants something from you? A jealous girlfriend perhaps? Or an angered ex-lover."

He shook his head. "No girlfriend, I'm available," he glanced meaningfully at her and Simmons, slightly annoyed, struggled to keep her poker face. "Ahem...," he continued, "and as for a grudge, the only person I've ever clashed with is your partner, he's an unagreeable little guy isn't he?"

"He isn't that little," Simmons protested automatically. "And he may be a little rash sometimes... a bit rude-"

"A lot rude," agent Scott scoffed and she frowned.

"-but he's a good person and I can assure you he'd never try to hurt anyone."

"Everyone can be pushed to hurt someone else, if given ample motivation," agent Scott objected. "And he _was_ the one who had that drone signed out."

"Yes because he was assigned to work on it," Simmons argued, then realized she was getting off track and shook her head. "But I'm not here to discuss how guilty Fitz looks-"

"Clearly," agent Scott commented, almost jeeringly.

Simmons ignored that, agent Scott was the victim here, he'd been attacked and he was probably shaken by it. On top of that, bickering with him would get her nowhere.

"There isn't anyone else, anyone at all, who would have reason to harm you?" She pressed.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I mean competitors I guess."

"Competitors?" She echoed, confused. "Are you on a sport's team agent Scott?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No, I mean the other engineers," he told her as if it should have been obvious. "We can't all have the top spot, we can't all be the golden boy."

Simmons tilted her head. "And, you mean... you're the-"

"Don't look so surprised," he cut in, irritated. "I'm the top engineer here... or... I was. Before your partner."

The top?

Agent Scott was intelligent, and he'd done a good job on his portion of the design for the Lullaby Box, Simmons had no trouble believing that he'd once been the so called 'golden boy' of their department. At least until Fitz came along. She wasn't being sentimental when she reflected that Fitz was probably the most intelligent and creative person she knew. If someone had gone after agent Scott because of his abilities...

"You don't think they'll try to hurt Fitz next do you?" She fretted, suddenly concerned about the faceless unsub.

"You mean assuming _he _wasn't the one who tried to knock _me_ off?" Agent Scott asked, still skeptical. "Maybe, I guess."

Simmons stared down at her hands and fidgeted unhappily. Would Fitz be safe in prison, all alone, if someone was out to get him?

"Hey," agent Scott soothed, turning sympathetic. "Look, I'm sure it's hard to hear but agent Fitz was the one who did this."

She couldn't look at him. Despite his attempt at kindness he was wrong. He was wrong and her friend was potentially in danger and all she'd managed to figure out so far was that the criminal _might_ possibly be another engineer.

"He had the drone, his fingerprints were all over it and his name was on the sign out sheet," he pushed.

"He didn't use it for this though," she mumbled.

_He didn't use it._

Fitz hadn't been the one to use the drone, but he'd had it. Someone must have stolen it from his flat, not an easy task considering he was on the third floor. Surely that someone had been spotted scaling the building, and the person who'd stolen the drone must have been the one who'd tried to kill agent Scott with it.

"Thank you," she said formally, quickly rising to her feet and gathering her things, "for your co-operation. I'm sorry about your leg." She tilted her head towards his broken limb.

"It'll heal," agent Scott assured her. "I'm just glad I landed in that truck."

"I am too," Simmons agreed. Despite her conflict with the other agent she wouldn't wish harm on him.

"You sure you don't want a cookie?" Agent Scott offered again, looking hopeful she'd take a few off his hands.

"No, no thank you," she answered, already halfway to the door. "I have some things I'd like to follow up on."

He seemed disappointed but he opened the door and let her back out into the autumn chill, headed back to Fitz's building to interview the other tenements, certain that _someone_ must have seen something.

/-/-/

* * *

><p>The Fringe reference in this chapter is bacon berry flavour. Walter invents this flavour when he inherits Massive Dynamic (a super corporation that's a little bit evil sometimes and has its foot in everything).<p>

I dunno if wolves really hunt that way. (I am pretty sure they chase down their prey to wear them out and then attack). I think lionesses do but I it's a male prison and male lions don't hunt (usually) so I went with wolves.


	4. Chapter 4

Simmons arrived at Fitz's building, used her spare key tag to beep herself in at the door, and took the elevator to the third floor to question his neighbors.

She began with Mrs. Sharp, an older woman who lived next door to him and had been retired for several years. Mrs. Sharp was friendly, easy to talk to, and she was often home during the day, when she wasn't traveling, so Simmons had decided she'd be the best person to begin with.

The sad smile on the woman's face when she answered the door told Simmons that she knew what had happened to Fitz. He'd been her neighbor for several years and they'd become friends. Mrs. Sharp often called Fitz for help with failing appliances and she trusted him with her old tabby cat while she was away on her trips. She would often bring him back small souvenirs as a thank you and, Simmons suspected, because she was fond of him. They had bonded over a mutual love of monkeys very early on.

"You're here about what happened to agent Scott, aren't you dear?" she asked kindly, appearing sympathetic.

Simmons nodded. "Yes Ma'am."

Mrs. Sharp shook her head. "I'm sorry but I already told those other agents I don't know if he was home or not. He's a quiet neighbor, he doesn't make a lot of noise, so it's hard to tell when he's there and when he isn't." She smiled, chuckling. "Unless you're there, then I can hear you two through the door when I'm on my way home with my groceries, chattering away about some new idea you have." Her smile faded. "I'm sorry I can't help you, I'm sure if he said he was home he was, he didn't seem the type to try to hurt anyone."

"He isn't," Simmons said, thrilled to have finally found someone who believed her friend was innocent. "And you actually might be able to help Mrs. Sharp," she told her.

"I've told you dear, you can call me Nina," Mrs. Sharp reminded her. "And I'd love to help if I can. Why don't you come inside and I'll make you something to drink? Do you still like hot chocolate? I remember both of you did when Leopold first moved in... or... he prefers Fitz doesn't he? He has such a nice name, it's the same as my grandfather's, but I guess nicknames are in style now."

"Something like that," Simmons replied, "and I'd love a cup of hot chocolate if you wouldn't mind," she added politely.

"Not at all," Mrs. Sharp smiled.

Simmons followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the little table by the window as she heated the water in a kettle on the stove and poured the cocoa powder along with four giant marshmallows into a large white mug.

"How can I help?" She asked, sitting across from Simmons as they waited for the water.

"I was wondering if you'd seen anyone in the building, anyone unfamiliar," Simmons inquired. "Around Fitz's flat, or... maybe... scaling the wall."

The last part sounded absurd the moment she'd said it and she was not at all surprised by Mrs. Sharp's answer.

"No, I would have called the police if I'd seen someone climbing up here," she informed her. "As for strange people...," she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no." She seemed genuinely disappointed at her lack of information. "Strange things have been happening though," she added, "around the building. Maybe you've heard."

"About the prank knocking?" Simmons guessed. "Yes, Fitz told me all about it. He'd hear a tap on his door and expect someone to be there, but when he'd get up to answer there'd be no one." It had happened several times in the past week, and Simmons hadn't thought too much about it at the time, but it was weird, especially considering it had started happening right before the incident with agent Scott.

"Not only that," Mrs. Sharp told her. "There have been other things too, the doors opening by themselves, the elevators moving up and down on their own. Sometimes when I come in I think the door stays open behind me a little too long. A few of the residents are beginning to wonder if we have a ghost in the building."

Simmons frowned, she didn't really believe in ghosts but what Mrs. Sharp was describing could be worth looking into. If someone were tweaking the doors, especially the front door, it might have been to gain access to the building, to steal the drone so that they could frame Fitz for their attempted murder.

"Has anyone come in to look?" She inquired.

"I saw someone inspecting the elevator a few days ago," Mrs. Sharp answered. The kettle whistled, steam streaming from the spout, and she rose to lift it from the stove before pouring the hot water over the cocoa and the marshmallows. "I asked him about it and he said it was working normally," she continued, placing the steaming, wonderful smelling liquid, in front of Simmons who was now certain that the strange occurrences in the building were something worth looking into.

/-/-/

After her talk with Mrs. Sharp, Simmons interviewed several other tenants of the building, however she received more or less the same answer from everyone.

No one unfamiliar came in, strange things have been happening but there isn't anything wrong with the elevators.

At least the stories were consistent, however Simmons was still puzzling out exactly what it had meant. Someone experienced in electrical engineering could have fiddled with the doors and the lifts, leaving minimal evidence. It was possible, but if the mechanic hadn't found anything, Simmons didn't think she'd be able to.

Fitz would have figured it out though, after a quick look at the wiring, and Simmons wished he were with her to help.

'But he isn't' she reminded herself. 'So you're going to need to use what you can do, depend on your own knowledge and problem solving skills.'

She could do this, however daunting it seemed to be alone, undertaking the task of catching a a criminal. She was clever and determined and someone she loved was depending on her, so, unwilling to allow herself to become discouraged, Simmons took her notes home with her, ready to sort through them and plan out her next move.

Her building wasn't far from where Fitz lived. They'd wanted to live in the same building, however that hadn't worked out and instead they'd settled for living only a few blocks away from each other.

It was a nice walk anyway, when it wasn't too cold or too hot, the way it was that day, and Simmons was enjoying herself, taking deep breaths of the crisp, cold scent of autumn leaves, until rustling behind her made the hair raise up on the back of her neck. She turned, expecting to see someone standing close by, but there was no one.

She continued on, convincing herself that it hand only been the wind. Until it happened again, footsteps, the feeling of another person just over her shoulder but nothing when she spun around to look.

Nervous now, her pace quickened and she took out her key, ready unlock the front door and close it swiftly behind her.

Someone started running, loud claps against the cement and bursts of leaves crunching, getting closer. It was too late for Simmons to run and she flinched, expecting whoever it was to grab her, ready to fight back.

No one grabbed her, though she was sure that something zipped past, stirring the air and brushing against her. Then it was gone.

Frightened now, she raced back to her building, almost missing the paper taped to the door in her haste to open it.

It was a note, handwritten in black ink, addressed to her. It was her name that had caught her attention.

'Jemma Simmons,' it read. 'They're going to finish it. I'm so sorry, I didn't want it to be this way. I really tried to keep him alive.'

Finish what? The last line sent a chill down Simmons' spine. Someone wanted agent Scott dead, they had failed (because of whoever had left the note perhaps?) but now they were going to try again.

Snatching up the paper, she changed course, sprinting away from the safety of her building.

She needed to warn him.

/-/-/

Fitz was in his cell, once again, passing stew back and forth on his plate because he was feeling sick from all the cookies he'd eaten. He suspected Simmons hadn't expected him to eat the entire box in a single sitting, but it wasn't as if he hadn't had help and besides he was in prison for a crime he hadn't committed, he could go a little over his daily sugar limit if he wanted too. It was a sweets-until-your-tummy-hurts kind of day.

His stomach really did hurt though, and the bit of stew he'd had had tasted weird, too sweet. Or maybe his mouth was still filled with sugar.

The pain was moving up to his chest and he hoped he wasn't having acid reflux. He was too young for that wasn't he? Was it in his head or was it getting harder to breathe? He inhaled deeply, feeling an ache under his ribs as he did.

Each breath after that was harder to take in, his vision blurred and his pulse quickened fearfully as he realized this wasn't a reaction to cookies, that something was very wrong.

"Help," he gasped, struggling towards the glass wall, trying to ensure he was in view of the camera. Did they have audio?

He banged on the glass. "He... help," he cried, legs buckling and collapsing to the ground. It was as if something were squeezing his chest and he couldn't expand it, couldn't pull in air. The world spun and he was hit by a wave of nausea before falling unconscious.

/-/-/

Fitz awoke, groggy and aching all over, and opened his eyes to a white tiled ceiling. He was laying in a bed in the infirmary, a small, white-walled room.

The memory of what had happened seeped back into his aching head and he let out a groan, struggling to sit up before gentle hands pushed him firmly back down.

"You need to rest," Simmons told him quietly. She was familiar, by her smell and the shape of fingers, even before she spoke and her presence was comforting, steadied the enormous, shifting world around him, leaving him calm and safe. "Someone tried to poison you," she explained, voice tight. It sounded as if she'd been crying. "But you're OK, you're OK now." She repeated the phrase, as if reassuring herself as well as him.

Fitz knew she'd been frightened, they'd both been, and, instinctively, he reached out to her, lifting his hand which was heavier than it should have been, as he studied her pale face. Her eyes were red and puffy and drops stuck her eyelashes together but she smiled as she wove her fingers into his, looking down at where they joined and slowly rubbing her thumb along the side of his palm.

He smiled back, courage flowing into him through their link the way electricity flowed through wires. "They didn't do a very good job did they?" He joked, dry throat gritting his words. There was an awful taste in his mouth and he wondered if he actually had thrown up.

Simmons smile twitched, amused, and her eyes narrowed affectionately. "They didn't expect you leave most of your supper uneaten." She informed him. Her expression darkened and she released his hand, standing up. "I have some water, I was keeping it for when you woke up. Would you like some?"

He nodded and she reached for the cup which sat on the desk beside him. Across from the desk he noticed a large, cushioned chair with an open binder of lined paper sitting atop it, notes neatly printed across the visible pages. Simmons had been sitting in a smaller chair, close to the bed, when he'd woken up and he wondered if she'd known to move there, if he'd stirred before he opened his eyes, or if she'd been there all along.

She let him sit up to sip the water, slowly, through a bendy straw. It cooled his throat and made him feel better, less like his limbs were filled with sand.

"It was because of the cookies you sent me," he let her know, laying back down as she settled once again into the little chair and took his hand. He was glad to have her fingers back between his, it made everything that was happening much less frightening, much easier to face. "I was too full from eating them to finish my meal."

He'd thought that would make her chuckle but she remained serious.

"You were very fortunate," she mumbled, eyes bright as she stared down at their hands. Then she blinked rapidly and lifted he head so that she met his gaze. "This isn't going to happen again," she vowed. "I'm going to find whoever did this and stop them. Your security has been upgraded, SHIELD is reconsidering your case, and I'm going to help them."

There was a fire behind her eyes as she spoke but, despite the strength and resolve he saw in the flames, Fitz was suddenly afraid for her. Whoever had done this was dangerous and he worried what they would do to someone who stood in their way.

"But... Simmons you're not..." he didn't want to offend her, make her feel like he didn't appreciate all she'd done, didn't believe in her, but this was over their heads. They were scientists, they stayed safe in a lab while the Ops graduates went out into the danger. "They can handle it." He told her, holding her gaze as he spoke, seeing the unwavering determination in her expression.

"I'm not giving up," she answered.

"You should be," he countered, sitting up and frowning at her. "Jemma this is... it isn't safe."

"I know," she replied, not budging an inch. "But it's the right thing to do."

"Why do they need you though? You've done enough already, can't you just give them your notes?" He jerked his head to the binder.

"I can't just sit here doing nothing while-" she argued.

"They tried to kill me!" He exclaimed, panic twisting around inside of him like a coiling snake. Why did she have to be so damn brave? Why couldn't she let someone else do the right thing?

"And they almost succeeded!" She shot back. "I'm not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs, waiting for it to happen again. I can help them Fitz, I can stop whoever did this."

They stared at each other and Fitz dug for something to say before she turned away, her attention drawn back to their hands.

He took a breath. "I'll come with you."

She shook her head. "They wont let you leave."

Frustrated, a deep sigh left him as he lay back down, exhaustion turning his bones to noodles. Whatever poison they'd given him was awful and he'd only had bit of it. He suspected that, for a while at least, he was going to be eating only food he or Simmons had prepared. Unless he didn't get out of prison before he became hungry.

Simmons sighed too and leaned forward to softly kiss the side of his forehead, silently telling him that she loved him and she was glad he was OK.

"Sleep," she instructed.

"I can't," he objected. "I'm... I can't."

"OK," she agreed quietly. "Did you want to help me then? Go through my notes with me?"

He turned over, so that he was facing her and the binder on the chair. "OK," he answered, needing to do something because he was scared and because if Simmons was going to keep going with this she wasn't going to have to do it alone.

She smiled at him and retrieved her binder, placing it on her lap and flipping to the first page. "Let's figure this out then."

"Together," he added, smiling back.

/-/-/

* * *

><p>Haha, I lied. This is going to have more than four chapters. Whoops.<p>

The Fringe reference here is Nina Sharp. She pretty much runs Massive Dynamic though I think officially it's owned by William Bell. Also she has a robot arm. Maybe the Nina in this story does too, you never know ;).


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you think we could be dealing with someone with some sort of cloaking device?" Fitz asked, shaking himself awake as his eyes began to droop shut again.

He was clearly exhausted, sitting up but leaning heavily against the front of his bed, seeming as if he could slide back down onto his pillow at any second.

"Maybe," Simmnons agreed, watching him carefully but choosing not to comment. It wasn't as if he were going to listen anyway and besides she knew he was unnerved by what had happened and the idea of it happening again. She didn't think she could have slept either, not right then. "It would explain the doors and why I felt as if I were being followed even though it seemed like there wasn't anyone there."

"So, whoever tried to warn you about me could have been stalking my building using a cloaking device," Fitz guessed. "In the note, you thought they were talking about agent Scott, that he was the one in danger, but it's me they've been... what? Protecting?"

She stared down at her hands resting atop her binder of notes, frustrated at the communication error, unsure whether she was angry with herself or whoever had left the note. The mistake could have had unthinkable consequences, it was merely a fluke that it hadn't. "Yeah."

He reached over to nudge her knee. "It wouldn't have killed them to put my name in the note," he joked, and she looked up to see him smiling at her, inviting her to laugh or to smile back.

She chose the second, narrowing her eyes fondly at him. "Agent Scott is completely fine, no one has tried to hurt him." She frowned. "Which makes me think that-"

"Maybe he was never the target," they finished together and she felt a lump form in her stomach because it was becoming increasingly clear that Fitz was the target.

"Why did they frame me then?" Fitz wondered. "If they wanted to kill me couldn't they have poisoned me at home?"

"Maybe it was one of the security guards," Simmons reasoned dully. The idea that someone they were meant to trust could be plotting murder, that someone who had complete access to her friend wanted him dead, was growing the lump like a seed into a tree, branches knotting inside of her.

"Then how did they get the drone?" Fitz asked. "How did they know how to make the tracker? How-" he winced and rubbed the side of his head, as if it were hurting him.

"Fitz," she warned. He was pushing himself when he needed to rest, to recover.

"I'm fine," he dismissed. "A headache is going to be the least of my problems if we don't catch whoever did this."

Simmons found she couldn't really argue with that. She could have gone through her notes on her own, and likely still arrived at a conclusion eventually, but Fitz sped up the process, like an enzyme pushing the reactants of a biochemical reaction towards products, pushing her more quickly towards a solution. And they needed to find a solution fast, before it happened again.

"Clearly there's more than one person involved in this," she said, remembering the note and retrieving it to show him. "It says 'They're going to finish it,'" she read. "So whoever wrote the note... whoever was in your building-"

"whoever stole the drone-" he added, hand still rubbing the side of his head.

"-knows something about the person who tried to poison you," Simmons concluded, a branch reaching her throat. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to concentrate, to not let her fear overwhelm her.

"So...," Fitz went on, eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "So someone wanted me locked up... for my own protection?"

"Maybe...," Simmons agreed. "Though... if they were trying to protect you, why would they risk killing agent Scott in the process? He could have died if he hadn't landed in the truck." A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Unless-"

"They knew the truck was going to be there," he finished.

She beamed at him, hope flickering like a flame at the thought of a new lead. Excited, she closed the binder and sprung to her feet, packing up her things. "I'll need to speak with the truck driver, someone they know- or they themselves- might be our mysterious invisible suspect."

Fitz watched her unhappily. "But... I mean... you don't have to go, you can tell someone-"

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Whoever left the note is on our side, they want to help."

"Then why all the secrecy?" He mumbled. "They're probably scared of whoever this is." He swung his feet over the side of the bed, laboriously pushing himself up. "I should come, just in case," he announced.

He couldn't come, they both knew it. Even if he were fit to travel he was still suspected of attempted murder, he was still a prisoner.

"You need to stay here," Simmons insisted, gently placing her hands on his shoulders to stop him.

His eyes grew bright and he stacked his hands over hers, holding onto to them. "Don't go," he whispered.

She'd never seen him so frightened, never had him look at her the way he was then, as if he was never going to see her again if she left. He would, of course he would, but his fear was contagious and her dread made her heart heavy.

"Oh Fitz, it's OK," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. He returned her embrace, clutching the back of her shirt, trembling a little. She rubbed his back, feeling her own eyes moisten at the thought of leaving him alone, at the uncertainty, that nagged her from the back of her mind, worrying he wouldn't be there when she returned. "You're safe here," she told him firmly, forcing herself to believe it.

He didn't reply and after a moment she drew away, the fabric of her shirt slipping out of his fingers.

"Go to sleep," she instructed for the second time. "I'll stay for a bit."

He looked away but nodded, laying back down on his side so that he was facing her. He reached out his hand and when she gave him hers he pulled it to his chest and held it there like a stuffed animal before closing his eyes.

It made little sense but she knew that, in addition to his fear of her leaving for her own sake, because what she was going out to do was inarguably dangerous, he felt safer with her there with him.

He wasn't safer though, she couldn't protect him, not in the case of direct confrontation, Simmons knew she'd make a terrible body guard, but she could keep him safe by catching whoever was trying to hurt him.

Which was why, once he'd fallen asleep, she gently wiggled her hand loose, softly kissed the side of his head one more time, and left.

/-/-/

Simmons found the truck driver, a woman named Elaina Martin, in the case file that SHIELD had agreed to share with her after Fitz was poisoned and it had been reopened.

She lived a short drive away in the suburbs, identical blue doored houses in straight lines along a narrow road, differentiated by their addresses and varying decorations. A few were already set up for Halloween, though the Holiday was still weeks away.

Elaina Martin's house, unlike the other houses, had a bright red door and two uncarved pumpkins sat together on the front steps.

An older woman, who Simmons guessed was Mrs. Martin, answered the door.

"Hello," Simmons greeted cheerfully, holding up her SHIELD badge. This wasn't technically SHIELD business, but she was working on behalf of SHIELD so she thought it was probably alright for her to present herself as such. "I'm with SHIELD, I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened to agent Scott."

"Of course," she replied, smiling welcomingly and allowing Simmons entry into her home.

They settled down in the sitting room, Simmons on a large chair and Mrs. Martin on the sofa.

Fretting over another attempt on Fitz's life, Simmons decided to get straight to the point and pulled the letter from her bag to show to Mrs. Martin.

"Do you know what this is?" She asked, searching the woman's face for recognition and finding none. Admittedly though, she wasn't very skilled at reading people through observation, not unless she was observing one of their tissue samples.

Mrs. Martin shook her head. "No." Then she frowned. "But... it looks a little like my daughter's handwriting," she told her, motioning to a picture on the mantle of a smiling woman holding a small dog. "What's this all about? Is Violet in some sort of trouble?"

"No, no not at all," Simmons assured her, shaking her head. "Actually, if she did write this note she might be helping us... um..." She wasn't sure how Violet's mother would take news of her daughter becoming mixed up in an assassination attempt, even if she had been trying to stop it. "Er... do you know where she is?" She finished, carefully avoiding the details.

"Helping you how?" Mrs. Martin wondered, tilting her head. "Is this part of her work?"

It was Simmons' turn to be confused. "Excuse me?"

"Her work with SHIELD," Mrs. Martin explained. "She works in engineering at Sci-Ops. She just graduated last year."

Simmons smiled. "Good for her..." Violet worked in their department. She would have access to the drone, she would have know how to use it. "Do you know where she is?"

"She went out to the store to buy a few things," Mrs. Martin informed her.

"Would you mind telling me where the store is?" Simmons inquired politely.

/-/-/

On her way to the store, Simmons spotted Violet walking home. The sun was setting and the light was fading but she recognized her from the photograph and stopped her car, parking it on the side of the road.

"Excuse me," She called, doing her best to appear friendly and non-threatening. "Violet Martin?" The woman glanced at her and her eyes widened, clearly frightened. "Oh... um.. I just wanted to-"

Violet bolted, dropping her shopping bags and sprinting down a side street.

"No, wait! I'm not... ughhh," Simmons let out a frustrated gasp before speeding after her.

She wasn't exactly a world class runner, but neither was Violet it seemed, and she managed to remain only a few meters behind her.

"Come back, I only want to talk!" Simmons shouted, scrambling to keep her footing as they veered off the road and onto a path covered in loose gravel.

They reached a fence and Violet skidded to a stop in front of the wall of chain-linked metal. A sign on the gate read: Danger Construction Zone, and behind the barrier the skeleton of a tall building towered towards the sky.

"Please..." Simmons panted. "I need your help... I know... you wanted... to protect-"

In the blink of an eye, Violet disappeared. One moment she'd been standing in front of Simmons and the next she was gone, as if she'd been winked out.

"Violet?" Simmons squeaked. "What-"

The fence creaked, like someone was climbing it, and Simmons finally understood.

There was no cloaking device; Violet was a gifted. She could turn herself, and apparently her clothing, invisible.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Simmons insisted, climbing after her after only a brief moment of hesitation. Her shirt caught on the fence, ripping a little when she yanked it free before falling ungracefully onto her feet.

Footsteps clapped up a precariously leaning staircase and Simmons followed nervously, spiraling up much higher than she felt comfortable with.

"Violet please," she begged. "You were right, they tried to kill him."

Nothing.

"I can't lose him," she admitted, opening up as she reached a solid concrete floor and stepped onto it, hoping she could appeal to the woman's empathy. "He's my best friend, we're suppose to do this together. There's so much more we need to do, he can't die." Her heart twisted at her own words and she blinked back frightened tears as she continued her search. She was certain she'd heard Violet walking across the concrete. "I'l do anything," she said, softer because the woman was close by now. "I love him, you understand that don't you?"

There was silence, but it seemed as if Violet had stopped moving, hopefully she was listening.

"You love your mother right? What wouldn't you do to keep her safe? I need Fitz to be safe, I need to protect him, and I can't do that without your help," she told her. "I can protect you too, I can-"

"No you can't," Violet objected dully and Simmons spun around, stumbling towards the source of her voice.

She was so intent on finding her, on pleading with her for help, that she forgot to watch where she stepped. The light was dissipating, leaving long shadows under the beams and the half-formed walls and in the darkness Simmons didn't see the hole in the floor until it was too late and she'd slipped off the edge, stomach leaping into her throat as she dropped.

Instinctively, she turned her body and gripped onto a plank of wood jutting out of the concrete, dangling several feet above hard ground and sharp, metal debris.

She cried out, heart beating wildly, blood rushing in her ears, and tried to pull herself up but the wood cracked and tilted onto a steeper angle, making her stomach lurch as she slid down it, barely managing to hold onto the end.

"Help me!" She screamed, sweaty fingers making it near impossible to keep her grip, her arms burning and a jolt running through her as she realized that she wasn't going to be able to pull herself back up.

/-/-/

* * *

><p>Violet is named after Violet from the Pixar film The Incredibles (who can also turn invisible, but can't make her clothes invisible.)<p>

The Fringe reference is the red door. Olivia's childhood home had a red door because her father thought it was lucky.


	6. Chapter 6

"Help me!" Simmons screamed again, scrambling to keep her hold and feeling the gaping empty space between her and all-too-solid ground like a hungry abyss.

Someone grabbed her arm, pulled her forward roughly so that her torso scraped painfully against the corner of the plank as she moved past it but she ignored the pain and grabbed them back, helping them hoist her back onto the concrete floor.

"Thank you," she gasped, trembling and attempting to slow her rapid heart beats, to steady her breathing.

"I couldn't let you fall," Violet told her simply.

Simmons nodded, feeling a spark of hope. "No, you couldn't. The same way you couldn't let them kill Fitz," she pressed and Violet frowned before looking away.

"If I help you they'll hurt us," she mumbled.

"I'll protect you," Simmons promised.

Violet cast her a skeptical look.

"_SHIELD_ will protect you," Simmons vowed. "It shouldn't take much convincing. You have something to offer, you're one of their agents, they have a history of protecting Gifteds."

"Monitoring them you mean," Violet corrected flatly.

"And protecting," Simmons insisted. "They can relocate you, get you away from whoever is threatening you."

She continued to appear skeptical.

Simmons sighed, sympathetic. The poor girl must be terrified, she didn't blame her for not trusting SHIELD- or anyone. Trust was hard for some people, especially if they'd been hurt and manipulated.

"Violet, whatever's happening isn't going to stop," she told her firmly. "They wont leave you alone if you know something, even if they-" she bit her lip and took a breath before continuing, trying not to let her voice shake, show how scared _she_ was. "E-even if they kill Fitz, they'll never leave you alone. They'll always be a threat hanging over your head. Remember what we learned at the Academy-"

"I remember the Academy," Violet interrupted. "I know how these things work."

"Then you know co-operating isn't going to keep you or your mother safe," Simmons persisted.

Violet sighed and her shoulders fell. She looked so small, so scared and lost, a bit like how Fitz had been behind the glass wall, and Simmons felt a sudden need to protect her too.

"How about this," Violet offered quietly. "If you can get SHIELD to relocate me and my mother, to keep us safe, I'll help you save your friend." She looked up, hopeful, pleading and Simmons smiled reassuringly at her.

"I can do that," she told her resolutely. "No one is going to get hurt, not if I have anything to say about."

Violet smiled back, a tiny, tentative, upward curve of her mouth.

"Thank you," she said. "We're very fortunate, to have you on our side."

/-/-/

Simmons took a deep, calming breath before she entered the room, preparing herself to speak in front of the small council that had assembled to hear her recommendations.

She hadn't had time to do much else in the way of preparation, nothing other than steeling herself and gathering her thoughts, and she was incredibly nervous, jittery, but she was also rock-hard determined to get her point across.

The look of fear in Violet's eyes was still fresh in her mind, as was the painful memory of Fitz, pale and still and barely breathing when she'd first come to visit him, before they knew he was going to be alright and the world stopped caving in around her.

They were helpless, rowboats caught in a hurricane, and she needed to pull them to shore. She needed to be the Coast Guard, pushing ahead to their rescue.

"Be the Coast Guard," she told herself, watching her reflection in the door knob and hoping no one was listening, confused, to her short pep talk to herself.

She opened the door and stepped inside the large, round room. The walls were black with shallow creases creating hexagonal patterns on them. She was circled on all sides by a sparsely occupied, curved sitting area, reminding her of the courtroom from the penultimate Harry Potter film. The head of Sci-Ops, agent Malik, stood behind a square stand before her and she half expected to see a swarm of Dementors swirling above her when she gazed at the ceiling.

"Agent Simmons," the agent Malik greeted, shuffling her notes and snapping Simmons' attention towards her. "You are here to present your case for the relocation and protection of Violet and Elaina Martin."

"I am," she replied confidently. "She has offered us information that could save the life of one of our agents in return for this protection."

"How do you know agent Fitz is still in danger?" She questioned calmly.

"Someone got to him when he was in SHIELD's custody," Simmons replied, pausing as she worried she'd offended them, hoping they didn't think she was criticizing them. "The poison could have... it _should _have killed him," she went on, trying to ignore the hand squeezing her heart. "He's only alive because he was very lucky and I know you've increased his protection but whoever this is is clearly working from the inside, or has contact with people who are, he isn't safe."

She risked glancing around the room, gauging the overall reaction to what she was saying and was pleased to see a few other agents nodding in agreement.

"Besides that," she continued. "Violet and her mother need our help, Violet's one of us, she's been trying to assist us but she's in over her head. Someone needs to look out for them and, if I'm not mistaken, looking out for people is one of the main aims of our organization."

"It is," agent Malik agreed, then she nodded and adressed the other agents. "I put forth that we go ahead with the relocation and follow up protection of Violet Martin and Elaina Martin. Is there an agreement?"

Simmons caught her breath, carefully optimistic, and watched as the entire assembly raised their hands in acceptance.

Agent Malik smiled at her. "Thank you agent Simmons, for your time."

Simmons smiled back, pleasantly surprised that everything had gone so smoothly.

/-/-/

"A bit over a year ago, I was approached by two agents, who I thought were part of SHIELD," Violet began, fidgeting slightly in the small chair on the other side of the shining metal table.

They were in an interrogation room for everyone's safety, but Simmons couldn't help wishing they'd been allowed to speak to Violet somewhere a little less daunting.

"Who were they working for then?" Agent Malik asked beside Simmons, eyes narrowed.

Violet shook her head. "I don't know, they never told me."

"What did they want?" She inquired.

She let out a ragged breath, eyes bright. "Me. They wanted me to work for them, they... they said they could make use of my unique ability. When I found out they weren't SHIELD, that they we-were... going to hurt people... I said no but they threatened to kill me and my mother if I didn't comply."

Simmons felt a sharp pang of regret that SHIELD hadn't found out about her abilities first, that they hadn't been able to stop her from being used and manipulated. It must have been a nightmare, living through that sort of fear.

"What exactly did they ask you to do?" Agent Malik asked gently. "Did they tell you to kill agent Fitz?"

Simmons turned to her in surprise but understanding quickly set in. Of course, that would be how Violet new about the plan.

Violet lowered her gaze. "They told me to get rid of him," she said quietly. "That he- he was moving up too quickly, he was a threat." She frowned. "I think... there might have been something more, but that's all they told me. I was so scared," she told them in a small voice. "I'm not... I'm not a killer. I don't want blood on my hands, but if I didn't do what they were asking..." She bit her lip. "Then I heard agent Fitz and agent Scott arguing in the lab and I had an idea," she went on, still avoiding eye contact. "I thought, if I could make it look like agent Fitz had tried to kill agent Scott they'd put him in prison and he'd be out of the way. Then I could do what they asked without killing anyone." She glanced guiltily at Simmons. "I know it was a horrible thing to do, that I was ruining his life," she added quickly. "But... at least then he'd have a life... I didn't... that's not an excuse." Her lip trembled and tear fell down her face. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

"I'm sure Fitz is glad you didn't kill him," Simmons assured her. "And you tried to keep him safe, risking your own life. He'll forgive you." He would, even if he did grumble about it for a while.

Violet sniffed and smiled gratefully.

"Can you tell us anything more about the people who threatened you?" agent Malik asked. "What they looked like?"

"I can tell you their names," Violet answered. "Joshua Levison and Aiden Waite."

Alarm flashed across agent Malik's face. "They work at the prison," she said tightly, standing up and walking towards the door. "Aiden Waite is a nurse."

"What?" Violet gasped.

Simmons' stomach clenched. "Fitz!" She exclaimed, leaping to her feet and rushing past agent Malik.

"Stay here, you'll be safe," the other agent told a horrified Violet, pausing at the door.

Simmons didn't hear her response, she had bolted ahead, sped by her fear and her need to reach her friend before it was too late.

/-/-/

Fitz was dying of boredom. Actually, truly, dying of it. There was no need for the insane assassin coming after him to put in any more effort.

He'd been awake for three hours with nothing to do except scan the channels for daytime television and read from the pile of magazines that had been left in the room.

He'd found out from the television that there was a terrifying device called a Kitchen Guillotine which (if he called now) he could purchase for only 10.99 (yay... now he could finally turn his kitchen into a dungeon), that Lexi was done with Eric treating her poorly and was finally breaking up with him (good for her) and that the Spanish word for monkey was mono (thank you Dora, that was actually useful).

He'd read through a few of the magazines and, unsurprisingly, he needed to eat more fruit, he was horrible at guessing mood from facial expressions and (according to love magazine) he would cry at his own wedding (why had he even been reading that one?).

In that moment, he was staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind, missing Simmons and hoping she was alright.

A buzzing hive of bees swarmed inside of him at the thought of her being hurt or... worse. Why hadn't she stayed? Why did she need to go off on her own and risk her life? For his?

Didn't she know that it wasn't life without her? That he couldn't live in a world she didn't exist in?

He thought about telling her that, when she returned, so she'd know how ridiculous it had been for her put herself in danger, but quickly realized it would be far too sappy a thing to say. She might get the wrong idea (exactly what that idea was, he wasn't entirely sure). Besides, he knew what she'd say. That he'd do the same for her, which he couldn't argue with because it was true and they both knew it.

Still, he wished he knew if she was alright.

Fitz sat up, needing a distraction and saw one of the nurses standing in the doorway.

"Do you need something?" He asked, hoping they didn't want another urine sample.

"I just need to replace your IV," he told Fitz, pointing to the saline solution slowly dripping into him.

"Oh... um... thanks," Fitz answered awkwardly.

"It's my job," the nurse said, approaching him and preparing to replace the bag.

Loud footsteps clapped rapidly down the hallway and Simmons burst into the room, charging at the man and barreling into him, knocking them both to the floor.

"You stay away from him!" She screeched, struggling to hold down the much larger person flailing beneath her.

He kneed her in the stomach and threw her off, into the wall under the window, and as she slowly sat up, he snatched the lamp from Fitz's bedside table and raised it above his head, ready to bring it down on her.

"No you don't!" Fitz growled, grabbing him from behind and holding onto his arms. The man's elbow hit his ribs and cried out as pain shot across his side and he was forced back a few paces. Thankfully he'd given Simmons enough time to get to her feet and she stood, ready to defend herself.

She didn't need to, agent Malik was in the doorway, pointing a gun at the nurse and shouting at him to stand down before he had a chance to attack.

He raised his hands, lamp over his head and she took it away before she led him out at gunpoint.

"What... the hell," Fitz panted, holding his throbbing side while watching them go, leaving only Simmons and himself occupying the room.

"Did he hurt you?" Simmons demanded, rushing forward checking him over urgently. "What's this?" She held up the new IV bag. "Did he give you any of this?"

Fitz shook his head, confused. "No...Simmons what the hell is going on?"

Her eyes grew watery and she let out a squeak before swiftly pulling him into a hug, holding him tightly against her.

"Ow," "Ow," they said together and he guessed the embrace was hurting her stomach as much as it was hurting his side.

"Are you OK?" He asked as the pulled away, looking down at where the man had hit her.

"I'm fine," she assured him, taking his face between her hands. "We're both going to be OK." She kissed his forehead quickly before leaning away to take him in.

"What happened?" He asked again.

"That man was part of a group of people who wanted you... um.." she fumbled to explain, looking uncomfortable.

"To kill me?" Fitz guessed, gulping.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I found the person who wrote the note," she went on. "Her name is Violet and she works in engineering. She's also a Gifted, she can turn herself invisible."

"Really?" Fitz gasped, fascinated, despites his fear.

Simmons smiled. "It really is remarkable. She told us everything she knew..."

Simmons preceded to recount her adventure, suspiciously hazing over her first encounter with Violet. Fitz thought there was probably more to the story there, but he was too tired to press for details and Simmons seemed strained enough as it was.

"Come sit with me," he invited, patting the space next to him once she'd finished. "You look exhausted. We can relax and find out how Eric took Lexi breaking up with him."

Simmons seemed puzzled. "What?"

"There isn't a lot to do in here," he explained and she chuckled at him.

"Well, I'm here now, so things should be better," she replied, grinning.

"Probably," he agreed.

Simmons sat next to him and, before he realized what wash happening, leaned her head on the front of his shoulder and gently lay her arm across his stomach. Fitz hadn't expected her to snuggle up to him that way, but he wasn't going to complain about it. She was warm and she smelled good and her presence made him feel safe.

"It's over now, right?" He asked, pressing the side of his face against the top of her head.

"I think it is," she answered quietly. "Fitz...," she paused and when she spoke again her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You are my favourite thing Fitz, my very favourite thing."

Her words set his heart aflame with a warm glow and he kissed her hair softly.

"You're mine too Simmons."

/-/-/

* * *

><p>The Fringe Reference is the "You are my favourite thing" line. Walter says this to his son Peter in the final episode of the series.<p>

**This is not the last chapter, there is one more. Haha, I wrote more than I thought.**

The Harry Potter comment is because I couldn't stop picturing the room as the one from the movie haha. It's fine if you've never seen it but I thought for those who had it'd be a good visual. Also I wonder what Simmons' Patronous would be? Fitz is easy, a monkey, but hers... hmm, maybe a dragon fish? I feel like it's something with ultra-cool biochemical properties like bioluminescence XD.

Sally Malik, Aiden Waite and Joshua Levison are the main characters of the North American version of Being Human.


	7. Chapter 7

"Should we be worried?" agent Sawyer asked, watching the monitor for agent Fitz's room which showed him and agent Simmons snuggled closely together, laughing at something they were watching on the television.

"About that, or about another attempt on agent Fitz's life?" Agent Malik inquired, tilting her head to where agent Simmons' arm lay across his stomach and agent Fit's hand rested on top of it.

"Both," he replied stonily, frowning as if foreseeing disaster.

"I don't think there will be another attempt," agent Malik replied calmly, appearing impassive. "We have it under control now, agent Simmons was very helpful in locating our moles."

"Do you think we should have told them earlier?" Agent Sawyer wondered. "That we suspected this might happen? Should we tell agent Simmons that she was likely going to be targeted as well?"

"We don't know enough about whoever is doing this to make that information available," agent Malik reminded him breezily. "Compartmentalization of information agent Sawyer, we know what we're doing."

"Is that why we needed a level three scientist to do the work one of our field agents should have been on?" He questioned boldly.

"I had complete faith in agent Simmons' abilities," she replied steadily, a ghost of a frown barely visible in reaction to his critism, once again watching the monitor. Agent Fitz was speaking animatedly about something they were seeing while agent Simmons watched him, eyes narrowed in undisguised affection before she said something that made him return her expression, laughing and smiling fondly at her. "In this case, their bond was an asset."

"In this case," agent Sawyer repeated, unconvinced.

"We'll just have to watch them closely for a while," agent Malik replied. "For their sake as well as ours."

"And Violet Martin?" He inquired, raising his eyebrows.

_"Amy Dyer_ and her mother are safe," she assured him. "Everyone is safe."

"For now," he added.

She nodded, remaining unconcerned. "For now," she agreed.

/-/-/

It was a beautiful fall day, cool and crisp with a crystal blue sky, scattered with only a few wisps of white clouds.

Fitz and Simmons walked, arms linked, through the carnival, surrounded by the hum of the crowd and the scent of various pumpkin flavoured goods.

"Really Simmons, anything you want," Fitz insisted again, enjoying the way her arm wound around his own, a firm anchor through the fabric of their coats, and the feel of weak sunshine through the chill. "If it weren't for you, I'd be an X on the list of whatever psychos were after me. You saved me, I want to give you something, a present."

"I didn't do it so for a reward," she told him, shaking her head but smiling because it was too wonderful a day not too and, he knew, she loved carnivals.

She said they were buzzing with life (he sometimes wondered if she meant the wasps which hovered over the sweet, sticky soda spills on the garbage cans, because she did seem quite fascinated by them, much to his horror) and filled with happy people (at least the ones who hadn't been stung.)

"Well I should hope not," he joked. "I mean, still having me around is it's own reward isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. Which is why-"

"I'm getting you a present," he interrupted, unwilling to allow her to talk him out of it. "Just tell me what you want."

"Anything at all?" She asked, accepting his offer at last and grinning gratefully at him.

"Anything," he promised.

Her grin turned impish and she pointed to a space which had been cleared and surrounded by barrels of hay, creating a makeshift outdoor dancefloor which was slowly filling with guests, loud, upbeat music blaring into the square.

"That's what you want?" he asked, surprised and regretting, a little, his recent promise.

"It'll be fun," she told him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "And you did say-"

"Anything," they finished together. Perhaps 'anything' wasn't a term he should use lightly, especially paired with a vow of delivery.

"I meant something you could take home with you," he mumbled, but he knew he was going to do it. He'd given her his word and besides her sweet little face was lit up like a sky full of stars as she stared at the dancers, wiggling with anticipation.

"I _can_ take this home," she informed him brightly. She pointed to her head. "In here, as a memory."

He shrugged, his heart a fish on her line. "If this is what you want..."

"It is," she answered, pulling his arm. "You'll love it, just wait."

Fitz seriously doubted that.

/-/-/

Square dancing, why did it have to be square dancing? It was the worst kind of dancing, it required him to engage with other people, other not-Simmons people, even if he started with her.

Despite his aversion, it wasn't as awful as he'd thought it would be. Simmons was thrilled, grinning at him as she twirled around in the ridiculous-on-anyone-but-her costume she had borrowed from the event supervisors. Over her cloths, she wore an orange and white dress, the frilly kind that flew a little as she spun, looking like wrapping paper caught in the wind.

She was adorable, beaming his way and hopping excitedly between partners as her feet rushed to keep up with the tune, not entirely graceful but light footed enough she didn't seem awkward either.

"Isn't this fun?" She chirped, catching his arm and spinning around with him. "I like the hat."

Fitz had borrowed a cowboy hat from the available wearables and, honestly, he liked it too.

"Here you go then," he grinned, hurriedly transferring it to her her head. "That's a mighty fine hat Ma'am," he told her in his best cowboy voice.

"Thank you kindly," she replied, tipping it to him and giggling before she moved on to the next dance partner.

Fitz did a spin with another young gentleman, one who'd dressed head to toe for the occasion, white shirt, riding boots and all, wondering if it was normal to think your best friend was the cutest person you'd ever met.

It probably wasn't, but he let that go for the moment.

When they met up again she jumped the hat back to him, grinning.

"I might have annexed your stetson partner," she chuckled, deepening her voice and attempting to sound as if she were from the Old West.

Fitz grinned. "That'll cost you a pound of gold, or a week mucking the stables."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

"I told you'd have fun," she gloated playfully, in her own voice.

"You always need to be right don't you?" He teased as she skipped away.

"I don't need to be, I just am," she called over her shoulder, giggling and he took a turn sticking out his tongue.

He didn't say it, but he was just happy to see her so happy. Whether she was fighting to protect him or dancing joyfully at a carnival, his friend was filled with a humming, shining energy, a life force that invigorated everything around it and in that moment he was content to bask in its glow, happy to be alive and to be free and to know that she was in his corner, always.

/-/-/

Agent Scott received a phone call early in the morning, just as he was preparing his coffee.

"You're being transfered," a familiar voice told him flatly.

"I thought you needed me here," he objected, narrowing his eyes as he stirred in the sugar.

"The position we need you in is occupied," he was informed. "However a more attainable one has opened up in Seattle."

Agent Scott bristled. 'More attainable'?

"Agent Fitz-" he began hotly.

"Is no longer your concern," they cut him off briskly. "The risk of continuing our attempts to eliminate him is too great, we've already lost two of our own."

Agent Scott thought uncomfortably of Waite and Levison and about the small packet of poison each of them had had somewhere under their skin, and the packet he had too, ready to be remotely activated if the time came when it was necessary. He suspected that time had come recently for his two allies.

"I told you a long time ago you didn't need to _eliminate_ agent Fitz," he muttered, shoving two slices of bread into the toaster. "I'm far more capable than that green, child-prodigy SHIELD is so impressed with right now. Soon my superiors will notice and move me up."

His toast popped and he pulled it onto a plate.

"Pack a bag agent Scott," they insisted, ignoring him. "And buy an extra rain coat."

The line went dead.

Agent Scott hung up the phone, scowling and aggressively buttering the hot bread.

"Hail Hydra," he grumbled, before taking a large, angry bite.

/-/-/

* * *

><p>I have never been square dancing but I watched videos of it on youtube, it looks fun :D.<p>

You have reached the end, thank you for coming along and believing Fitz was innocent ;).

Any Dyer is the name of a zombie from In the Flesh. She's my favourite zombie :D.

There isn't actually a Fringe reference in this chapter, but the scene with the toast, where agent Scott reveals something before munching on some toast, is inspired by the scene at the end of 3x19 when Olivia predicts the man she drew is going to kill her someday before nibbling on her toast.


End file.
